


balter

by therestlessbrook



Series: kastle prompts [2]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Dancing, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-24
Updated: 2019-04-24
Packaged: 2020-01-31 09:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18588742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therestlessbrook/pseuds/therestlessbrook
Summary: balter - to dance gracelessly but with enjoyment





	balter

The invitation comes to her apartment.

Karen picks it up—the paper is heavy, good quality, with lettering in fine gold script. She stares at it for a full minute before picking up a phone and dialing the number.

A young girl answers. “Hello?”

“Hi,” says Karen. “May I speak to David Lieberman, please?”

There’s a moment of hesitation. “Who’s this?” the girl asks.

“Karen Page,” says Karen.

“Oh.” There’s relief in the girl’s voice. “Hold on a sec.”

There’s a muffled crunching noise, like a phone being shoved in a pocket. Karen stands in her kitchen, fingers rapping against the countertop, her lips pressed tight. Finally, a man’s voice answers.

“Ms. Page,” he says. “I assume you got the mail?”

It’s actually the first time she’s ever spoken to David Lieberman. He sounds like she expected—a little breezy, a little distracted. All of the computer nerds she knows are usually masters of multi-tasking. At this moment, he could be hacking into some government server. Or helping his kids with their homework.

“You mean you don’t have a camera pointed at my doorstep?” she says, only a bit tartly.

“Just the window,” says David easily. “Although you seem to have disabled that.”

“It’s sitting in my junk drawer, if you want to retrieve it.”

“Ah,” says David. “No need. You can bring it with you in lieu of a present.”

Karen looks down at the invitation again. “This has Frank’s name on it.”

“Well, he doesn’t have an address that I could find.” She can hear typing on the other end of the phone. “If he’s renting a place, he’s doing it under the table. And besides, we both know that if he’s going to attend a vow renewal, he’ll need a plus one.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you sent it here,” says Karen.

“Well, you can get in contact with him, right?” says David.

She hesitates. She still has the roses, although she hasn’t put them in the window. Not since before the hotel and Lewis and—

She remembers the touch of his brow against hers, the ragged sound of his breathing. He’s alive, she knows that much. She doesn’t know much more.

“I could try,” she says.

“Much appreciated,” replies David. There’s a pause, then he says, “You helped him track me down all those months ago, didn’t you?”

She hesitates a second time, and apparently that is answer enough.

“I’m grateful for that,” he says simply, then the phone goes quiet.

Karen glances at the vow renewal invitation—meant for David and Sarah Lieberman. A small ceremony, to be held in a month at a pool park of all places. _Frank C_ , reads the invitation. _With Karen._

She shakes her head, sets the paper down, then glances at her coffee table. The roses are no longer in bloom, but she’s kept them alive. There is a garden shop nearby, and she went to them for instructions and fertilizer.

She closes her eyes. Breathes. Then picks up the planter and sets it on the windowsill. She gazes it it for a few moments, then walks away.

* * *

She isn’t sure what to expect. A day passes, and then another, and she’s sure the message has gone unseen.

But then, at two in the morning, there’s a knock at her door.

She reaches into the bedside drawer, pulls out her pistol and checks the chamber. It’s loaded, despite all the gun safety warnings that say ammo should be kept separate. She doesn’t exactly live a normal life. Gun aimed at the floor—she isn’t an idiot when it comes to _all_ safety warnings—she steps to the side of the door and says quietly, “Who is it?”

She doesn’t look through the peephole; she imagines someone shooting through it.

“It’s me,” says a rough voice, and her heart thuds. Her shaking fingers unlatch the chain, then the deadbolt, and then fumble for the doorknob.

Frank stands there. He isn’t in his Punisher gear—no bulletproof vest nor armor. But nor does he look like Pete Castiglione; there’s a few days’ worth of scruff along his jaw and his hair is still tightly shorn. There’s a new scar along his hairline, where she remembers blood flowing steadily.

He steps inside and she shuts the door behind him. “What is it?” he says. “What’s wrong?”

She realizes she is still holding her gun and quickly sets it on the coffee table. “I’m fine.”

Frank’s gaze swings toward the roses in the window, then back to her. 

She hasn’t tried to get in contact with him. Not until now. “I wasn’t sure if you’d come,” she says. “I heard about what happened at the carousel. Put two and two together. I thought…” She shakes her head. “You might want a fresh start.” She is baggage from his past, no matter how much he might deny it. She imagines she is a constant reminder of the trial, of cars slamming into one another, of a gunshot in the woods.

“Karen,” he says, and there’s a note of… something in his voice. She can’t put her finger on it. “If you need me, I’m here.”

Simple as that. It makes her chest feel a little too tight.

“All right,” she says softly. She has to shake off her sentimentality. “Here.” She reaches for the invitation and passes it over. “Lieberman thought I’d have a better chance of getting in contact with you—and he can’t find where you’re living.”

“A guest house that isn’t supposed to exist,” he says. “Someone’s willing to rent it for cash under the table.”

She smiles, just a little. “Thought it was something like that. Anyways… well. You can see.”

Frank reads the invitation in its entirety. “Well,” he murmurs. “Good for them.”

She wonders if this brings him any pain. A vow renewal isn’t quite a wedding, but it’s close.

Frank taps the invitation against his palm. “I shouldn’t go.”

She nods. “You think?”

He shrugs. “Safer not to. Don’t want anyone to recognize me.”

“True.”

“And David probably doesn’t expect me to go.”

She nods.

He looks at the invitation again. “Why’s it got your name on it, too?”

“Apparently,” Karen says, “Lieberman is under the impression you couldn’t find anyone else to be your plus one.”

He scoffs at that.

“Turn it over,” Karen says.

She only found the message when she tossed it onto her coffee table. When the heavy paper flipped.

Frank turns it over.

 _Please come_ , is written in loopy handwriting. _I could tell you about the ending to Lily and the Octopus._

“Leo,” says Frank quietly. He presses a hand to his face, exhales.

She just watches him. This must mean more to him than it does to her.

“She reads a lot,” says Frank, as if that’s an explanation. “I—fuck.” She has seen less pain on his face when he had shrapnel through his arm and a bleeding head wound. He regards the invitation with no small amount of resignation. “I’ll pick you up here at three?” He says, words stumbling a bit, “I mean, if you want to. You don’t have—”

“What do I wear?” asks Karen.

He shrugs. “Anything. Just… anything.”

“Sweats it is.”

“Do you even _own_ sweats, Page?”

Karen glances down at herself. She’s wearing a nightgown—thin-strapped and cotton worn soft. Her legs and arms are bare, and she realizes this is probably the most of her he’s ever seen. A hot flush starts at her chest and works its way upward.

“I’ll buy some,” she says, if only to say something.

He nods. “All right.” He moves toward the door, then hesitates. The invitation is still in hand. “Thanks,” he says. “For…”

But he never finishes the sentence. There’s a hesitant quality to his stance, a little slouch in his shoulders she’s unused to. She has seen Frank full of fire and steel—but now he is a man without a war. He leans closer, and she holds very still. His lips barely brush her cheek, but she feels it through every muscle, every bone. He pulls back quickly, eyes a little averted, then hastily makes his way for the door.

“I’ll see you later,” he says, over his shoulder, and his steps are a little surer as he walks down the hallway. He pulls his hood up and over his head, and he strides out into the night like he belongs there.

* * *

On the Saturday in question, Karen pulls out a navy blue dress. It’s an off-the-shoulders, mid-length dress that she bought on impulse, thinking it might be a good date night dress. It says a lot about her life that the dress has been collecting dust for nearly a year. She slips it on, checks herself in the mirror. She braids her hair into a crown, then nods at her reflection. Not overly dressy, but not casual, either.

When Frank knocks at her door, she answers it without really looking at him. She is in the act of pulling on a pair of neutral tan flats—she’s not wearing heels if she’s going to a park. When she looks up, she sees Frank gazing at her. He looks… mouthwateringly good, if she’s honest. He has grown a short beard in the month since she’s seen him last, and the suit only emphasizes the lines of his shoulders and waist. She has to bite her tongue to keep from saying something foolish. “You look good,” she says instead. “I’ve never seen you in formal wear without the raccoon eyes.”

He blinks a few times, then says, “Borrowed it from a friend. I don’t really have a lot of occasions to wear suits.” He shifts, tugging at the sleeves. “You look…”

“I know,” says Karen. “It isn’t sweats. I’ll do better next time.” She picks up her purse. “Ready to go?”

“Sure.”

They leave her apartment in relative quiet; he’s driving a car she doesn’t recognize and she decides not to ask where he got it. She suspects it didn’t come off a sales lot. He drives with casual skill, fingers loosely clasped around the steering wheel, tapping gently when another driver does something particularly stupid or reckless.

“So tell me about the Liebermans,” Karen says.

Frank glances at her. “What do you want to know?”

“I mean, what should I expect?”

He shrugs. “Been a while since I did anything like this. But it won’t be too fancy, if I know David and Sarah. This was probably his idea—trying to reassure her that he’s not going anywhere.”

“Is she worried about that?”

Frank’s fingers tighten on the wheel. “He left them. Let his whole family think he was dead for a year. Bound to be some trust issues after that. I mean, he watched them from an underground bunker, dressed in a bathrobe, while he looked for a mass murderer to team up with.” He lets out a breath. “Did the right thing, though. I judged him for it, when we first met. But he had it right, in the end.”

She remembers that night beside the river—the pain in his voice when he said that David kept his family safe. Unsaid, went the rest of his thought: _Like I didn’t._

“Hey,” she says. “You both did the best you could. With the information you had at the time.”

His mouth flattens out.

But she continues. “The Lieberman family is back together because of you.”

Frank glances at her sharply. “David tell you that?”

“No,” she says. “But I know you. And if they’re safe and happy, you had something to do with it.”

He looks away. There’s a play of several conflicting emotions across his face, then he says, “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to.”

“Well, when else would I get to see you in a suit?” she says lightly, trying to defuse some of the tension.

He laughs hoarsely and drives on.

* * *

The ceremony is just as Frank said it would be—it’s unpretentious and utterly lovely. There are folding chairs; about forty or so people. Frank’s short beard does a good job of disguising him. Combined with the suit and the lack of bruises, he’s almost unrecognizable as Frank Castle. A preteen girl is the first one to greet them—hugging Frank around the waist. She calls him ‘Pete,’ and is clearly thrilled to see him. He asks about her reading and she chatters on, leading them to the chairs.

It’s heartbreakingly sweet. And not for the first time, Karen thinks that he must have been a good parent.

Leo briefly introduces Frank and Karen to the Lieberman’s rabbi, then a few aunts that Karen tries to keep track of—but she’s distracted by the man waving at her from a few rows of chairs away. She recognizes him from a few pictures: David Lieberman. He points at Frank and mouths, _Thank you._

Karen reaches into her purse, pulls out a small camera, and tosses it to him. David catches it, looks down at the object, then starts laughing.

“What’s that about?” Frank asks.

“Just making sure my window ledge isn’t on pay-per-view,” she says.

They sit in the back and listen to talk of renewing old bonds and forging new ones. Sarah Lieberman is lovely and the kids are cute, and Karen can see how Frank might have grown so attached to this family. He sees a little of what might have been, a glimpse into a future he never got to live. She wonders if he and his wife ever thought to do this, reaffirm their own connection, but she won’t ask. It feels too much like prying.

Afterward, someone pulls a phone and speaker hook-up out of their bag and the chairs are cleared away so people can mill about. There’s food and a bit of dancing, and the kids scamper off in the direction of the pool. The air smells pleasantly of chlorine and sunshine, and Karen watches it all from the shade of a tree. When she looks up, she sees that Frank has been dragged onto the pavement that serves as a dance floor by Sarah. He’s flushed—and probably not all from the sun. There’s some kind of fast dance that consists of a lot of bass and screechy vocals, and Karen would bet a year’s salary that the kids picked the playlist. Frank appears to be trying to retreat, but Leo and David snag one arm each. Karen laughs, and while the sound cannot possible be heard over the loud music, Frank’s gaze snaps to her.

She’s still smiling, and some of the panic seems to drain from his expression. He gestures to her, and she shakes her head. He may be trapped amidst the dancers, but she is—

“Come on,” says one of the older ladies. She looks like she could be Sarah’s aunt—and she’s leading several other people onto the dance floor. One of them snags Karen and she can’t pull away in time.

She finds herself amidst the swell of dancers, and she cannot quite find a way to escape. Not with kids bouncing around her. She allows herself to be carried on the tide of people until she’s beside Frank.

“Help,” mouths Karen. There won’t be much talking, not with the music this loud.

Frank gives her a look that clearly says, _I couldn’t escape; you think I can get you out?_

It has been a long time since Karen danced to anything. She remembers those parties all too well, and she has never gone back to that scene. Never wants to go back. The Karen who danced at college parties and drank bad alcohol is a young woman from another life, another time, and Karen has done her best to forget her. Now, she shrugs a little and lets herself fall into old rhythms. It feels kind of nice, actually.

The song ends abruptly on a high pitched note, and then shifts to something slower. People pair off—Karen glimpses a few of the older couples seemingly slipping into uncomplicated swaying and the kids leave the dance floor, uninterested in dances that aren’t about bouncing. Sarah steps into David’s arms, and it’s nice to see how easily they move together, how they can predict one another’s movements. Karen can see how they’ve been good partners for so long.

She turns, and sees Frank still beside her. His gaze is still on her, and there’s a bit of softness around his mouth and eyes. He holds out a hand, and her heartbeat thuds unsteadily. Her body understands the invitation before her thoughts can process it.

She takes his hand.

The first time they were this close, it was when he shielded her from bullets spraying into her apartment. And the last time was when she was pressed to him, trying to shield him from the cops. Now, her hand is on his shoulder, one of his at the small of her back. It’s nice, in an unfamiliar way—she honestly can’t remember the last time she danced with anyone.

It lasts about thirty seconds. Then one of the kids gets hold of the phone, and some Korean pop song begins blaring out of the speakers. A few of the older couples begin squawking in protest, while a gaggle of kids goes running through the crowds. Frank laughs, the sound barely audible above the music, and in the sudden chaos, he steps off of the cement dance floor. He doesn’t release her hand, though, and Karen finds herself gently steered away from the bustle. They end up beneath a clump of trees, in the shadow of an oak, enough distance that Karen can hear herself think again.

“They seem nice,” says Karen. “All of them.”

Frank gazes at David and Sarah—the former dancing with his daughter while the latter is conversing with an older man.

“They are,” he says. “Decent people. The kind who shouldn’t have been caught up in…” He shakes his head slightly.

“I wonder what that makes us,” says Karen, a little ruefully. She has long since stopped being caught up in things; it feels like she draws them, like she exudes some siren call for danger.

There’s a bit of understanding in his face, as if he knows what she was thinking a moment ago. “Jury’s still out on you,” he says, utterly deadpan.

“Is it now?” she says. Frank has always had a dry edge to his humor, and she enjoys it. Teasing and all.

They leave the party after another hour, and Karen is surprised when David and Sarah Lieberman both give her polite hugs. They seem to regard Frank as part of the family, which is sweet—but Karen isn’t quite sure what that makes her.

Frank drives her home in silence, but it’s a comfortable one. She sits with one arm resting on the window, gazing at the city beyond.

“Thank you,” says Frank abruptly.

She glances at him.

“For coming,” he says, by way of explanation.

“You said that already.”

He gently takes the car into a turn, glancing in the rearview mirror. “Yeah, but I meant it. It was easier with you there.”

“What was?” she says softly.

He shrugs with one shoulder. There’s a distance to his expression. “Being there alone—it would’ve been like wearing a mask. Like this.” He rubs at his short beard. “I’d have felt like I was just playing a role. Like I was pretending to be a decent person.” He lets out a breath, his gaze sliding to her, then back to the road. She can see nerves in the way he grips the steering wheel. “With you… I can almost believe it.”

There’s a strange flutter of anxiety in her stomach.

“And you look beautiful,” he says, so quietly she almost doesn’t hear him.

She looks at the road. She could tell him all kinds of things: that he is a decent person, that she still trusts him above most others in her life, that she had a good time too, that clearly the entire Lieberman family adores him, that he looks appallingly good in that suit and she’s been thinking about how he would look out of it, too.

“Turn right here,” she says.

He glances at her. “Your apartment is on the left.”

“Yeah, but there’s a really good coffee shop a few blocks down,” she says. “Also, they have fancy donuts.”

He blinks a few times. “You want to wear this—to get donuts.”

“Fancy donuts,” she says. “And really good coffee.”

“You sure?”

She knows he isn’t talking about the coffee. “Yes,” she says.

He turns right.


End file.
